


Capsulated Compilation

by DistantStorm



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Development, F/M, Gen, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:33:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Series of one-shots that follow Bulma and Vegeta  - because there's certainly more than we see on screen, or at least I think so. A take on some of the things we don't see, some head canons, and the little moments that mean a whole lot. May feature the family and other characters, but Vegebul all the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh this is my first AO3 official story! (Cross posted on ffnet under my username Distantstormmeg)Thanks for stopping by. This will be a collection of Vegebul drabbles that try their best to stay canon. I'm new to the universe here, so feel free to critique as needed. And as always, please note that I do not own Dragon Ball Super, any likenesses to characters either fictional or non-fictional, ect are property of their respective owners. Just an adult writing fanfiction here, folks.

**Three Minutes**

**(Post DBS Ep 27)**

When she realizes everyone around her has a plate and is otherwise occupied, their faces begin to blur and she knows her hands are shaking enough now to draw attention to herself.

She's not stupid, knows what this is. The bile rises in her throat and she presses the back of a shaking hand over her mouth, taking two calm steps backward into the nearest doorway before turning and taking the halls at a clear sprint. Her eyes begin to water in a way that betrays her fight against her gag reflux.

Somehow overriding her body's natural response, she makes it to the basement lab. Fresh air isn't what she needs right now.

The red emergency lights are soothing and familiar, and though it doesn't stop her from vomiting in the large washtub in the corner, she knows that it will pass soon enough. She stuffs her fist in her mouth, teeth biting into the flesh just beyond her knuckle without breaking delicate skin. Wills her body to stop it's incessant shaking lest it draw attention while she bends over the washtub.

The thing about being a genius was that it came with the shitty perk of knowing how the people around you were going to behave before they did it. And that meant putting on a brave front lest her softy-on-the-inside-Super-Saiyan-God-Prince-of-all-Saiyans husband discover that watching the earth – not to mention everyone she gave a true fuck about – get blown to bits in front of her induced a panic attack the likes of which she hadn't had since she found out she was pregnant with their fucking child a month after he headed to space to go Super. As far as she knows, he doesn't have a clue, and she'll take this secret to her grave, thank you very much.

She backs herself to the wall because her legs feel like jello, and if she's grounded no one can see her from the door. The whirring of machines will disrupt their ability to hear her heartbeat, and the energies mingling upstairs will prevent them from really feeling the changes in her ki. Sliding to the floor, curled in on herself while her heart bangs in her chest sounding suspiciously like the explosion she sees on repeat when she squeezes her eyes shut, Bulma recognizes that she's going to bid her husband goodbye after this meal is over. There will always be more training for him. She signed up for this willingly. Loving him would never be easy, but it was worth it and Bulma didn't like easy things very much anyway.

The shaking returns as the feelings of imminent loss wash over her. Who knew how long he'd be gone this time? She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus on the whirring sounds to recalibrate her volatile state into something functional. She doesn't see the electric blue glow as Whis appears instantly before her.

"Ara ara," He tuts. "Here I was, hoping for some sort of private buffet."

Her watery eyes open wide as she jolts in surprise, but she doesn't look up, her gaze trained on Whis's feet. Still too sensory overloaded.

"Shall I keep Vegeta-san home for a while?" He asks in his most velvet voice. She hears the concern. Hates it. Hates herself. They're friends, after all – even if it had stemmed from her selfish desire to keep her family alive.

Violently shaking her head, she bites down on her fist again, hard. Teeth marks worrying the skin of the fist from the pressure now. The tears flow treacherously down her cheeks, but she fights her body to prevent the sobs from escaping while she attempts to reign herself back in.

"No," She says after a moment of breathing around her fist, letting the breath dry the saliva that had accumulated on it. It's practically a mumble. "Please, don't do that."

"His absence hurts you." It isn't a question.

"Vegeta **_will NOT_**  be shackled by my insecurity."

"This wasn't the only instance," Whis guesses – or maybe he knows, Bulma hasn't quite cracked the code on him yet. His eyes are calculating and cold for a moment, his version of cataloging, she thinks to herself. He's studying her, and she has a strange feeling he's more god-like than Beerus-sama in more ways than one.

"It wasn't even three  _fucking_  minutes that they were dead. I've lived with worse, and I'm sure I will again." Her words are like venom. Whis likes this earthling woman when she's playing nice, but he likes the viper of a temper that's coiled under her skin far better. She's not lying to herself. He can respect that.

"You're an interesting person, Bulma-san."

"Likewise," she says, pushing herself up. The blood that was rushing, pumping in her ears with each thump of her heart has quieted to a level she can maintain without detection. These moments don't keep her down long – nor will she let them.

They return to the party – no one notices she's been gone, and Whis makes a scene about not being able to find his way out of the Briefs' castle of a house after leaving the bathroom. Bulma is an excellent actor. Whis can almost believe she's not faking it, that she's as joyous as she pretends to be. Beerus's narrowed eyes on his teacher suggest he might know something went amiss, but he certainly doesn't mention it. Neither makes any attempt to prolong the visit. They finish their meals, say their goodbyes, and return to Beerus-sama's home.

"Perhaps you two should go home more often," Beerus-sama says through a cough while they're traveling back. "Whis is getting soft having you two around to do his chores for him."

"Oh, ho, is that so, Beerus-sama?"

"Tch."

"No thanks, I gotta get stronger! We'll try and be quieter so you can sleep, Beerus-sama."

Whis shook his head. Subtle approaches were hardly effective with these Saiyans.


	2. Three Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of Three Minutes. Inspired by the events of DBS ep30. A conversation between Bulma and Vegeta takes an unhappy turn, and Vegeta makes some observations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picks up after the last one. There'll likely be 2-3 more in this subseries, though I'm relatively confident they could be stand alone as well.

“Three years… Fine. I’ll go too.”

Bulma cast a glance in their direction from the corner of her eye before glancing back down at her coffee she scoffed.

Not only had she stayed up all night to build this fucking Super Dragon Ball Radar, but she’d literally spent zero time with him that wasn’t related to his agenda – or y’know, saving the planet from the god of destruction’s wrath – in months.

It wasn’t like her husband or Son-kun had stopped discussing the tournament long enough to give her some actual, concrete reasoning behind their unwavering trust of Beerus – the being who destroyed entire planets over an over-cooked steak or a misplaced sneeze. She gripped the cup tighter, waiting for them to leave the room so she could rage alone, or for Jaco to show up and get the show on the road.

Son-kun stood after a moment and stretched, giggling as he does before wandering off, likely to find something to eat.

“Woman.”

“Hmf.” She purposefully looked away.

“Fine then.” Vegeta stood to follow his sparring partner. “It’s only three days, woman.  It’s far longer for us in that chamber.”

She realizes her hands are shaking again. This time it’s rage absolute. Coffee sloshes over the edge of the glass as she slams the cup down on the desk, no concern for any of the electronics scattered in front of her as the glass cracks and more coffee leaks out everywheree.

He winces when she faces him, because he’s certain her next words will be heard by everyone human or otherwise in a five-mile radius. She inhales, leveling him with a glare that’s more destructive than any look Beerus-sama’s ever give him. He’s not even sure he’s seen this look on her face before, a glare that’s only eyes, and no mouth. Her mouth is flat, closed, and he’d think she was focused on a thought if it weren’t for the fire in her eyes.

“I must love you a whole fucking lot,” she murmurs after a moment, and the words are hot on her tongue. Her eyes look subdued after she finishes her statement, the fire in them dulling.

“W-what?”

Bulma shakes her head. “A lesser woman would leave you. You’re not even in this relationship.”

It’s the first time she’s ever said it aloud, but it’s also the first time she’s seen him in nine months. Whis can’t convince them to come home for weekend much less a meal, and he’s admitted that he’s tried in situations Bulma does not particularly want to recall right now. Fuck, she’s seen Beerus-sama more than she’s seen her own husband.

“What is the meaning of this?” Vegeta doesn’t know how to process hurt. He only knows anger, so his voice is loud and rough, but not too loud to let anyone else hear their conversation downstairs.

She hears the echo of the spaceship entering the atmosphere. Let Goku greet him, she thinks, leveling Vegeta with a dead-eyed stare. She’s tired. She likely won’t sleep until she returns, and it will likely be upon her return that they demand sustenance and then dive headlong into the gravity chamber for three days, returning just in time to go to the tournament. A girl has fucking needs, Bulma thinks. And needs must be made known. He doesn’t know better, she knows from experience. He’s not human, just like she isn’t Saiyan. He forgets that he’s got the better end of the cosmic deal.

“Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”

“Too long for your human standards, no doubt,” He replies with a curt sneer. “Do you require me to stay home and play house with you, human?”

She sighs at his barb, he’s baiting her. Just great. “How long is your life expectancy now that you’re part god or whatever, Vegeta?”

“Who knows.” His reply is so nonchalant that she seethes.

“Okay, well my life is nearly half fucking over. You have fun training away the rest of my time, and don’t fucking miss me when I’m gone, Prince Vegeta.” She steps past him, praying that Jaco just lets her hop in and go, because she’s had fucking enough. Her mortality has caused a different type of trembling in that’s blossoming from the inside of her rib cage and she just doesn’t have time for it right now.

He grabs her wrist as she passes him. “We have the dragon balls,” he murmurs after a moment of thought, choosing to ignore her ‘Prince Vegeta,’ mockery routine. His tactical mind figures they’ve got about ninety seconds to get over whatever her human brain thinks is a reason to leave him. “Who said I’d allow you to leave me?”

She shakes her head. “Who said you’d get the choice?”

“Surely you’d haunt me, woman.” He replies, spinning her around to face him. “Weak or not, I’d know if you were gone. I’d feel it.” Guarded emotions in his eyes become clearer, and he’s trying, she’ll give him that.

“You’d have to be around to know.” She smiles sadly, her heart pounding. She loves him, more than she loves anyone or anything, but for fuck’s sake it just fucking hurts sometimes to be consistently cast aside. "I could have been dead or dying for an awful long time before you’d ever know.”

“Whis would have told me.”

“He’s under instructions not to.” She admits, backing out of his slackened grip. “I give you what you want. Always.” She breathes, and the tears finally well up in her eyes. “I won’t hold you back from what you want.”

She doesn’t make sense, he thinks. “Then what do you want from me?”

“Nothing you won’t give me willingly.”

“There’s no problem then, woman.”

Her sharp intake of breath and the identical tracks of tears pouring down her face indicates he doesn’t understand –

_OH_.

It hits him with the weight of a punch from Kakarot wearing one of those gravity suits.

The woman – his wife – wants compromise of some sort, but knowing Bulma’s selflessness when it comes to him, that’s probably an exaggeration. She’s being as strong as she can, and she needs him to – he isn’t giving her anything, he realizes. He isn’t there. He doesn’t even wear a ring because she won’t bind him to those human customs that display ownership to one another.

By the time he filters his thoughts down to a coherent plan of attack, she’s already retreated downstairs, likely to greet the midget who will take her to the Super Dragon Balls is. And of course, she’s been crying so things are going to go fantastically. He rolls his eyes. Their issues are private, and he knows they’re both too prideful to have a full-blown disagreement in public, but he doesn’t need Kakarot giving him the third degree for the three years they’re in the chamber.

When he joins them, the purple midget is prostrating in the corner, and Bulma is giving him shit, and there’s no trace of any of those feelings on her face. She reacts accordingly when he mocks her age – with violence – and this time he watches her face long enough to see the hurt flicker cross her face for a half second and reflects on her earlier words _(Don’t fucking miss me when I’m gone – my life is nearly half fucking over – nothing you’re not willing to give)_. His gut drops like he’s eaten something bad.

When did she become one of those creatures on the television who pretended to be different than they were?

Next thing he knows, they’re in the ship and its boot sequence is half complete. He has to say something, or he’ll never forgive himself, and he knows it. So, when he warns the purple midget not to do anything suspect, Vegeta isn’t looking at him. Instead, his eyes are searching hers. She plays it off, but her aquamarine eyes are glittering.

It floors him every time.

This slip of a woman just gets him. Her anger is like a storm coming ashore. Furious, but it breaks quickly, the lightning and thunder giving way to a cleansing rain. He reflects again. She’s never asked him to be anything but himself. The moment gives rise to a thought of Kakarot’s wife berating him and barring him from training which Vegeta immediately casts aside with an internal scoff, but he still makes the connection. Bulma doesn’t actually make demands of him or tell him he can’t do something, even just for propriety’s sake.

As the ship takes off, Vegeta mentally catalogues the other part of the conversation. He’s going to need to speak with Whis the next time he sees him. His woman will not be allowed to carry on telling others to withhold knowledge on her wellbeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did my best to write Vegeta here... it's my first time writing him, and I have trouble with stoic characters. Please critique as necessary, I wish to improve! Also, I don't mean to make Bulma out to be a sad puppy, but she really got drop-kicked in the heart a bit over DBS 30-32.


	3. To the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little peek inside of Vegeta's head during DBS Ep 56, seeing the devastation of his home in the future, and following through til just before the fight against Goku Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a touch shorter, but I feel like Vegeta's not a man of many words, and that would translate into his thoughts and point of view on things. Let me know what you think! I'm still getting the hang of writing him.

**To the Future**

**DBS Ep 56**

The news that Black had murdered Bulma in the future had sent tremors down his spine. Her fragile humanity was not lost on him. He had a hard-enough time dealing with her manic sessions in the lab when she was on to something – much less now that she’d have to crack the code on technology she wasn’t supposed to have yet.

But this was something different. Here he stood, in a future he hadn’t lived long enough to defend, staring at the remnants of a home he had once so desperately refused to accept as his own. This planet wasn’t his. Or at least it wasn’t at first. But looking at this future invoked feeling in the depths of his dark heart that he hadn’t felt since he was nary a child watching Frieza carry out the destruction of his planet and people. He clenched his fists until his gloves were so tight over his knuckles he thought they’d burst.

If this were his future he’d…

He didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. The way the boy wore his emotions as prominently as his mother did told him there were more pressing issues at stake here. Of course, he had heard Bulma – his very much alive Bulma – speaking to Trunks about the mantle he had to take up, being the only Saiyan left alive in his time. It was enough to make him sick, thinking about how this boy who was both his and not his had a lesser version of himself that couldn’t hack it, but had been dealt a truly more difficult hand. The woman always said that fathers want better for their sons, and he’d never admit that he might actually agree with that statement.

Of course, when he heard the boy scream his woman’s name, he was taken back to a moment he would never unsee – _Beerus standing over his woman, hand poised like a viper to strike… please, I’ll do anything, not her, take it out on me_ – and he knew every word he’d spoken about getting the boy to fight his own enemies were for naught. This boy – this son – had lost too much to lose the last spark of happiness within him.

The small group of people who lingered against the concrete walls of the subway system were haggard and small. He’d seen slave planets and refugee camps, and this one was not far off from either of them. He shook off the thought, watching the boy cheer up children and become embraced by the remnants of humanity. So much of his mother in him, he thought. So sentimental, but humans needed that to follow a leader. They connected through emotions, not just battle. This boy was different from his other boy, his littler one. The little one had more of his father’s demeanor, without the necessity of a warrior – though the little shit would be trained to act as such. This boy, he was more like his mother in every way. The traits he shared with his father’s side were forged by innate need to protect and serve the dregs of humanity.

He didn’t realize the satisfied, proud smirk that had taken over his features until Kakarot as giving him a stupid grin that made his blood boil. He had to look away lest he frighten the remaining survivors by sending the idiot through a wall.

When he’d thrown out the capsule of food – he could sense their hunger without sweeping for ki, for fuck’s sake – he refused to take credit. Despite it being the woman’s idea, he would not allow himself to look a hero to these people in front of the boy. He would be the one leading them. Vegeta was not the prince of these people – the boy was, and by the way he stood back and watched them take their fill before even considering his first bite, Vegeta knew he had been raised right.

Mai had waited until Trunks and Kakarot were occupied before approaching him and murmuring her thanks. There had been a note on the inside of the container holding the other two capsules – full of first aid, clothing, rations, and weaponry that his wife had accumulated startlingly quickly between finishing the rebuild of the time capsule and their swift departure. While he had made a smug boast about her being his wife, he couldn’t help but admit that he admired his woman’s resolve to help the boy in any way possible, even if she wasn’t actually the boy’s true mother.

He supposed he could relate. That’s why the boy wouldn’t be fighting this battle. He and his woman would be escaping through that time capsule if he and Kakarot failed. There would be no argument. If this branch of time were doomed, they would go back in time to the woman and the smaller boy. Even Bulma was prepared for this eventuality. He was certain he’d heard her father mention the creation of more fuel for the time machine before his departure, and even more certain that she’d build another one for the sake of being prepared.

If nothing else, their half-assed communication skills throughout the years allowed them to be in sync when it truly counted, he thought with a smugness that pulled a smirk across his face. She’d be pissed if they dawdled too long in the past, and she’d been nagging him enough as it were to spend some time with her. But, morbid as it was, it pleased him to know that her foolish emotions had been tempered by his realism over the years, and she was prepared for even the darkest of possibility.


End file.
